The Stone of Archimedes (8 page)

“Right,” Rob said. He sat onto a chair across from Jake. “I've been trying to call you. Your cell seems to be off.”

“I lost it,” Jake said. “I think it's somewhere in Sicily.”

The cultural officer was trying his best not to eye Jake's Italian friend, but he was failing miserably. “So, then, I have a new one for you in this bag, along with a few more things you may need.”

Jake considered this man again. When they'd first met, Jake had thought the guy was a bit of a putz. But maybe his first impression had been wrong.

“By the way,” Rob said, “you're looking much better than our first meeting.”

“A Tunisian prison isn't great for the constitution.”

“Right. Well, since I haven't been able to get you on the cell, I decided to find you in person.”

“I thought we agreed to let me do my job,” Jake said.

“True, true. But things have changed somewhat across the pond. Professor Sara Halsey Jones' father is quite ill. He might just have days to live. They would like you to find her and bring her to Texas.”

“I told you I would find her and determine if she was all right, but I have no intention of dragging her back to America. Not unless she wants to go.”

Rob Pierce cleared his throat and stared at Elisa for a moment before returning his gaze upon Jake. “Right, I understand. But I'm sure she will want to return to see her father before he dies. Did you track her to Malta?”

“Yes.” Jake explained to him what he had found out so far and how they had come to Malta. He still left out how he knew Elisa. When neither man said anything for a moment, and Elisa seemed to know to keep her mouth shut, Jake finally said, “Do you two know each other?”

Both of them shook their heads at the same time.

“But Elisa you now know who sent you on your path. And Rob, when you contacted the Italian government for help, this is who you got. Is everything on the table? Or do I have to fill in the blanks even more?”

“No,” Rob said. “Crystal clear.” He pulled the satchel from his shoulder and set it onto the table next to Jake's empty glass. “If there's anything else you need at all, just give me a ring. There are two numbers in there. Mine, of course, and that of your new contact in the States.”

“New contact?”

Rob glanced about the room to see if anyone was close enough to hear, which was not the case, since that's why the two of them had selected this table. “Yes. A man named Brock Winthrop. He's an advisor and lawyer for the senator and his family. That's all I know.”

Jake doubted that. Just like he also doubted that this man was actually a cultural affairs officer with the state department. It was more likely that he was with another agency within the government.

“Anything else?” Jake asked.

“Nope. I'll be on the late ferry tonight back to Tunis. So, if you need me, please call.” He got up to leave and then said, “Good luck. I was never here.”

Jake tried as hard as he could to keep from laughing. This man had watched too many spy movies.

Elisa shook her head. “Was he with your Agency?”

“Hey, I have no idea. I left that life a long time ago. And besides, didn't you hear, he was never here.” He opened the satchel wide enough to see there was no bomb inside, and then closed it up, got to his feet and started for the door.

Getting to his side as they reached the sidewalk outside, Elisa grasped onto Jake's arm and said, “Could you tell me where we go from here?”

“I was going to wait until morning and go to the university to talk with that professor. But I think we should go find the guy tonight. Considering the fact that the Greeks are also in town.”

She agreed with a nod and then walked toward the car.

Although Jake had noticed her beauty first when they met at the airport, sometimes perceptions change over time. In this case, she was even more attractive than he first thought. Perhaps, with the death of the last man involved with the death of his fiancé, he had finally shed the demon from his conscience and could now see life more clearly. Sure he had been distracted for a while with his friend in German Intelligence, while he tracked down those who had put a price on his head in Berlin. But he guessed that was over now, with Alexandra back in Munich with the BND. Thankfully they had ended their short tryst amicably.

As they sat in the car for a moment Jake went through the satchel he'd gotten from the Tunis cultural affairs officer. There wasn't much there. A cell phone, which he checked over carefully for any tracking device besides the normal GPS. Nothing. It did contain files that had been on his old phone. Those he had put to memory and deleted. Jesus, did this guy think he was a complete dolt? Also in the bag was a couple of pairs of new underwear and socks—nice touch. But the main attraction was a 9mm Sig Sauer P250 subcompact with two extra magazines of 12 rounds each. Jake quickly broke down the gun and checked for serial numbers, which had been removed. Also, it looked like the gun had never been fired. He guessed the hollow point rounds would also be non-traceable. Nice. He made sure to wipe his prints as he put the gun back together within a few seconds and glanced at Elisa, who had been on her phone looking up the professor from the University of Malta.

“What?” Jake asked her.

“Was I smiling?”

“Yes, you were.”

“Well, it's just that I've never seen anyone break down a gun with such precision. You were like a child at Christmas opening a present.”

Jake wished he'd gotten a gun like that for Christmas. He had gotten a single shot .410 shotgun one year, and was the happiest kid on the block that year. “Okay. Did you find the history professor?”

“I did.” She handed the phone to Jake. It had the address up and tracked to the GPS.

“Let's go then,” Jake said.

The professor lived just a few blocks from the campus in the suburb of Msida, an old fishing village. But the university and the professor's house were both situated up on high ground. Although it was dark now, the lights from the capital Valletta shone off the water to the south of them as they cruised along a residential street lined with apartment buildings.

“One block ahead on the right,” Jake said. “That building on the second floor.”

Elisa pulled up to the curb and shut down the engine. “How do you want to handle this?”

Jake didn't even have to think about that. “We use you. The professor is in his early forties and single. Born in France, he's lived here in Malta for the past ten years.”

“What if he would rather have a man?”

Being French, that could have been true. But Jake had to go with the odds. “All right. We'll both go talk with the man. But you knock on the door. Hate to scare him with my mug at night.”

They got out and walked toward the building ahead. Jake checked the feel of his new gun tucked into the sleeve on his left hip. It was in a cross draw position, which Jake preferred. He would have liked his normal leather holster under his left arm, but it was impossible to use those in the hot regions of the world in the summer. The sleeve he could tuck into even a waist band without a belt if he needed, and then just throw a T-shirt over the butt of the gun.

Neither said a word as they climbed the stairs of the apartment building and then stood before the professor's apartment door. Jake stood to one side as Elisa knocked on the door. Nothing. They looked at each other and both shrugged.

Jake checked the door handle and the door swung in a couple of inches. Without thinking, he pulled the gun and aimed it toward the door opening. Elisa followed him closely. But Jake heard something just as they were about to enter. With one swift motion, he pushed Elisa away from the opening.

Bullets smashed through the door, splintering the wood. Jake aimed his gun and shoved the door inward as he dove toward the floor. He saw flashes from across the room and he aimed at those and fired twice before rolling to the left.

Silence. Only the ringing in Jake's ears.

Then more shots, but this time from the corridor outside, followed by some shots from Elisa before she dove into the apartment right next to Jake. He thought he had heard the familiar sound of body striking floor after his two shots. But there could be another shooter somewhere within the apartment. Yet, they were pinned down.

Jake jumped to his feet and hurried through the small apartment until he found a man laying on the tile floor of the kitchen area. Checked for pulse. Nope. He could see that at least one of his bullets had entered the man's face, taking out the guy's right eye, the one that had aimed the gun.

More shots from the corridor, followed again by Elisa shooting. She seemed to have that under control, so Jake rushed through the apartment. He found the professor strapped to a chair in the bedroom, gagged with a leather belt, and with cigarette burn marks on his arms, his neck and his face. But what had killed the man was obviously the widest string taken from the man's acoustic guitar and twisted around his throat.

Damn it. They needed to get out of there.

Running back out into the main room, Jake went straight to the door. “Follow me,” he said to Elisa. Without further explanation, Jake rushed out into the corridor. When the bullets started coming from the end of the hallway by the stairs, Jake ran forward firing his gun. He didn't look back.

By the time Jake reached the staircase he could hear two things. First, he heard multiple footfalls down the stairs. Second, he could hear the sound of police cars approaching with sirens blaring. Since he could feel Elisa right behind him, he continued down the stairs, guessing the men who had been shooting at them would not stick around now that the police were on their way.

Jake hesitated at the outside door, just in case the shooters were waiting for him. But instead he heard tires burning rubber as a car raced off down the street.

“Let's get the hell out of here,” Jake whispered loudly.

When they got to the car, Jake asked for the keys, got in and lowered the windows to hear from which way the cops were coming. He turned the car around and at a reasonable pace got them out of there, vectoring to the south toward the waterfront. He watched a few blocks over as two police cars flew past them heading toward the shooting scene.

How in the hell had this gone from a simple case of finding a college professor from Texas to a murder and possible kidnapping?

He glanced to his right at Elisa, who was visibly shaking. “Are you all right?” he asked her.

She still held her gun in her right hand, the muzzle pointing at the glove box.

“You might want to safe your gun, reload your magazine, and put on your seat belt.” Jake did the same thing with his gun, driving with one hand and slamming a new magazine into the handle of his gun against his leg. Then he shoved the gun into the holster on his left hip and put on his seat belt.

Elisa took deep breaths and then completed the same tasks. Finally, she said, “I've never been shot at.”

Jake laughed. “Well, you've only been with me for a short time. Just wait until we've been hanging out for a while.”

“Your file says you've been in a lot of these situations. How do you get used to it?”

He didn't really know how to answer that question. Perhaps enough time lapses between such incidents to inoculate his mind. But this was getting shot at twice in less than two weeks. Not a record for him, yet a bit unusual.

“You never get used to it Elisa.”

“But you just ran right toward the shooters.”

True. Maybe he was luckier than smart. Some had said he had a death wish. But what Jake knew is that most people also don't like to be shot at, so he used his own covering fire to close the distance on the shooters. It was a calculated risk.

Changing the subject as he slowed the Passat down and wound through the waterfront area of town, Jake said, “The man who I shot in the apartment. I knew him. Well, we had an encounter on the ferry from Tunis to Trapani. I took his gun but he must have found another one.”

“And the professor?” she asked.

“Tortured and dead in the bedroom. And it looked like someone enjoyed it too much.”

She seemed to sink down into the leather seat even more, her arms across her chest, resembling a young school girl who had just had a fight with a parent. She was clearly disturbed by all this.

“What about the woman, Professor Sara Halsey Jones?” she asked with a quiet tone, nearly a whisper.

“I don't know. It's my guess the history professor tried to keep her location a secret, but he would have failed.” So these men knew where she was or where she was going. Time to turn things around. Change from the pursued to the pursuer.

The three men sat in the rental car outside the international arrivals area of the Malta airport. Demetri, the current leader of the crew, was concerned about having to tell Zendo about their failure. Well, partial failure. But anytime you lose a man, it's not a good thing. Kyros, the man behind the wheel of the large German sedan, sat expressionless as usual. Nothing seemed to rattle that man, Demetri thought.

He turned to the back seat and tried to console Niko with a morose expression. But the man had just lost his cousin in a shoot out. “Are you all right?” Demetri asked. It was a stupid question to ask someone in grief, but they still had a job to do here.

Niko tightened his jaw reflexively and said, “I will be when I kill that man, Jake Adams. You must let me do it.”

“I have no problem with that,” said Demetri. “But first we have to get our orders from Zendo.”

Maybe they had acted out of order, but at least they had gotten something from the professor before Niko had twisted too hard on the guitar string and taken the man's life. He only hoped Zendo would forgive their mistake and realize they were closer than ever to finding this American woman. Demetri also wanted to make sure that other man with them, the man whose name they didn't know, would not tell Zendo what had happened before he got a chance to explain himself. Maybe he should have gone to the baggage area instead of sending that man to retrieve Zendo. But Niko was ready to fly off and find Adams to kill him, and Demetri needed to stay with him to talk him off the ledge.